The Faro's Curseby Jackson Keys

My head lays on the Faro board. Thick blood gushes through my cracked glasses onto the green cloth table where it waterfalls off the sides and seeps into the floorboards below. It really hurt. It’s probably the most painful thing I’ve ever felt up to this point in my life. I really don’t have anyone else to blame. Looking back, I was really dumb this morning. I coulda just shot Red in the gut the moment I saw him. But you know the way pride sometimes gets into the way of good judgment? Yeah, that’s kind of what happened. I see Red laying on the other side of the Faro board, much in the same position I am. But he has a bullet hole through his forehead. That would probably hurt bad too. I wish I was the person who put that in his head. I’d be so proud of myself. But Red isn’t looking at me. He’s looking at the Dealer. The Dealer, who’s clothed in all black, blows the whispering smoke from the barrel of his revolver. He was the one who had fired the last two shots. I can’t move my arms. Or my body for that matter. All I can do is look at Red and frown. The Red Wrangler, as he’s known throughout this side of the Green River. He was the one who got me into this whole mess. It was just an hour earlier I had walked inside the saloon. The Dry Bones Saloon, as it was famously - or infamously - named. It was a sturdy wooden building, with decor that gave it a quaint picturesque kind of feeling. Red was sitting on a stool by the bar, probably drinking his fifth bottle when I approached him with a gun to his head. “You're gonna drop your gun on the floor and your gonna come with me, Red.” I made an effort to spit on him as I lashed out each word. The man was wanted for wrangling cattle, and killing a few ranchers along the way. He had earned himself quite the bounty, and all that money was gonna be mine. Red turned around and smiled. I had heard that the Red Wrangler's smile was disgusting, but the rumors had nothing on it. His remaining teeth were crooked and every color teeth could be but white. His breath stank. He kind of just stank in general. His forehead was covered in blood, just as I heard it would be. They call him Red, since he smothers his head with blood. Some said it was cow’s blood, others said it was something much worse. “Hey, I know you. You’re that guy they call Kid Specs,” Red said. I jammed the gun further into his head. “It’s just Specs, ya hear?” “Hey, they all call ya Kid Specs, so I call ya Kid Specs.” “Shut your trap, you filthy gunslinger, and put your gun on the ground.” I was trying really hard to sound intimidating. I probably fooled myself that I was. “Or what?” Red said with his grin. “Or I shoot ya.” “Last I heard my bounty said I was to be turned in alive. You wouldn’t kill me.” I leaned in real close to his face. “Who says my bullets are gonna kill ya?” “Well good job, bounty hunter. You trapped me. Where’s the honor in that? If we were to shoot out in the streets, you’d fall down before you could even touch your gun.” “Like I’d fall for that one, Red. You’re gonna come with me and I’m gonna be a rich man.” “More like a rich boy,” Red laughed. I slapped him in the face. “Put your stinkin’ gun on the floor!” Red still looked me straight in the eyes. “I bet you couldn’t even beat me in a game of Faro. I hear kids make poor gamblers.” “You think I’m a bad gambler? I’ll let you know I’ve left a game of Faro with less money then when I started. Not once.” That was a lie, but I had been hoping he’d fall for my bluff. “I think you wouldn’t stand a chance against me in Faro. Not one filthy chance,” Red laughed. I looked up to the bartender. That’s when I realized he wasn’t your average bartender. Clothed in all black, with a pointed mustache and yellow glasses, was the Dealer. The most infamous Faro dealer this side of the Mississippi. They said the Dealer had never lost money in any game he’d ever dealt. And he'd dealt thousands of games. That was probably the reason so many came to his saloon to try and prove the rumors false. “You're the Dealer, right?” I asked. “I am,” he said with a mild nod. “How about you deal me and this man a game of Faro? If I make more money than he does, I turn him in for a bounty and you tell everyone you know to fear the name of Specs.” “And what if you lose?” The dealer asked. “Then I get to shoot Specs in the head!” Red said. The Dealer walked Red and me to his Faro table. It was in the back of the saloon where the light was dimmer and the cigar smoke was less thick. We sat down and the Dealer quickly set up the game. On the green table there were fourteen cards laid out in order, from the Ace to the King. Faro was a simple game. All you had to do was bet on which card the dealer was gonna draw, and you double your money. The dealer would draw another card, though. That one was called the dealer’s card, or the losing card. If you bet on that card, the dealer would take your bet. Red and I both reached into our pockets and handed the Dealer ten dollars. He took the money and handed us both our own stack of chips. We shook hands, and the game was on. That’s when things started to turn for the worst. Red was good. I won’t say he was better than me, but he somehow had luck on his side. As the game went on, Red’s stack of chips got bigger and bigger, and mine smaller and smaller. Before I knew it, it was the last turn. There were three cards left in the box. Since every other card had been dealt, we knew the remaining three to be the Eight, the King, and the Ace. One of those would be the soda card. That was the card drawn first each round by the dealer. It was discarded, and if you bet on it, you got your money back. Red and I would bet on those three cards, and whoever bet on the winning card would double our final stakes. There was a problem, though. Red had fifty chips, and I had twenty. I wasn’t doing bad, but Red was doing better. Red smiled, like he had been all game, and dropped all his chips on the Ace. Good. If the Ace lost, I could win. “Going all in? I thought you were smarter than that,” I said, wanting to make him feel stupid but praying he wouldn’t take his move back. “The last card is always the Ace, kid,” Red said. “Every gambling man knows that.” I took all my chips and slammed them on the King. “It’s always the King. Any fool knows the King is always the winnin’ card.” The Dealer stared at the two of us. He had been silent nearly the entire game. I’d never have admitted it, but he spooked me. He placed his hand on the Dealer’s box and began to pull out the first card. This was it. If I won my bet, I’d be draggin Red off to the Sheriff’s station. If I lost, well, I’d find some way out of it.The Dealer placed the soda card on the table. It was the King. I grabbed my chips and put them back in front of me. Sure, my bet didn't double, but if Red lost his bet, I’d have more chips than him. I was about to say a quick prayer, but then I realized I was gonna win for sure. The next card was taken out of the dealer’s box. It was the Ace. Then the winning card was drawn. It was the Eight. Red lost! I nearly jumped for joy, but first I wanted to see Red’s face when he saw he was going to lose. But Red wasn’t frowning. He was smiling even more.“Just like I said, I’d never lose a game of Faro to a kid,” Red said. “What are you talkin’ about? I won.” Red pointed to the Faro board. His bet was stacked neatly on top of the Eight. “You bet on the Ace!” I yelled. “I saw you. You even told me that the Ace was gonna win.” “What are you talking about, you loony? I bet on the Eight. Look, my chips are right there. I think you’ve had one too many whiskeys to drink.” I was no fool. I knew he had bet on the Ace. So that was when I pulled out my gun and shot. Not at Red, but at the string I new was attacked to his chips. It was a classic cheating move. You tie a thin horsehair or string to you bottom chip, and when you realize your bet lost, you move it to the winning card. That strategy might have worked in a crowded game, but not when there were just two players. He was a fool outlaw, and I had shot straight through his lie. I stood up and grabbed Red's bottom chip by the string. As the rest of his chips fell and bounced on the board, I dangled the chip in front of his face. “You’re a cheat. I won.” That’s when the first gun fired. BANG! Glass shattered, and I felt blood run down my face. Red’s hand was in his pocket, a new hole in the fabric revealed a smoking gun barrel. The world spun, and I kicked over my chair as I fell onto the Faro table.​ That’s when it hit me; Red had never planned on losing. Then the next gunshot rang out. BANG! I looked up with my one eye to see blood oozing from Red’s stomach, smothering his tan pants with a deep bubbly red. Another shot. BANG! That one hit Red in the forehead. He fell down next to me on the table. That was when our blood started to pool together and fall off the sides of the table. I look away from Red, who I’m pretty sure is dead right now. I still hurt; a lot. With my head lying on the table I see the Dealer, though my vision is sideways so it looks like he’s standing on the wall. After he holsters his smoking revolver he starts dropping mine and Red’s chips into his black leather bag. “There’s nothing I hate more than a cheat who gets caught.” He mutters as he leaves the table.

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